


Letter S

by Kass



Series: Stargate Atlantis fanworks [40]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Encyclopedia, Flash Fic, Gen, backstory challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-26
Updated: 2008-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never even thought to ask for one of these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter S

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "backstory" challenge at sga_flashfiction, inspired by a throw-away line from "Allies." Many thanks to Lamardeuse and to Sanj for beta!

  


  


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Letter S  


  


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by [Kass](mailto:kassrachel@gmail.com)  


  
Notes:  

  
    

Written for the "backstory" challenge at sga_flashfiction, inspired by a throw-away line from "Allies." Many thanks to Lamardeuse and to Sanj for beta!

    
  


  


As far as John was concerned, the best Christmases were the ones when his father was stationed somewhere else. Everything was easier when it was just him and his mom.

In the days leading up to Christmas, people around the base were extra-nice. He got Christmas cards from grownups he'd known at other bases—his fifth grade homeroom teacher seemed to track him down whenever they moved—and they made like it was a big deal his father wouldn't be home for the holiday.

And he got to be all stoic whenever they went out. "You're the man of the house now," the adults said, ruffling his hair. He didn't show how that made him want to wince; he just smiled and said "yes, ma'am," and waited for his mom to reply, "he takes good care of me."

She got sniffly a lot, and would call him over and press kisses to the top of his head. It was kind of annoying. But when his dad was home, he gave John the sense that John was a disappointment no matter what he did, and that was worse than his mother crying into her coffee.

This year, his dad came home at the start of December, just in time for John to be on Christmas break. Which sucked, because now the house felt too small and John's mother spent all her smiles on his dad. John lied to his parents about where he was going and spent a lot of time hiking by himself. They said he was too young, but he knew different.

Christmas Day, though, there wouldn't be any excuse to go anywhere. Opening presents would occupy part of the morning, and then they'd just sit there, watching the Yule Log on TV. At twelve, John was old enough to know that Christmas was just—a day. With forced family togetherness, and gifts you had to pretend to like.

Still, when he came into the living room that morning and saw that there was stuff under the tree, he got excited despite himself. It was Christmas, right? Maybe this year something cool would happen.

There was only one box under the tree for John, which meant whatever was inside it had to be a big deal. He jittered all the way through breakfast, itching to open it.

His parents exchanged glances over his head when he finally, desperately, asked whether he could be excused from the breakfast table. "Go ahead," his mother said, and John ran for it.

The box was heavy, and beneath the wrapping paper it was printed with the name of a company he didn't recognize. Once he tore the cardboard open, the box turned out --

\-- to hold books. A whole heavy box of books, bound in burgundy and tan. Each one said "World Book," and on their spines were letters: Aa-Al, Am-B, C...

John looked up at his parents, speechless.

"Don't give me that look," his father warned. "You'd better say thank-you."

His parents had fought about this, he guessed. Maybe it wasn't a manly enough gift, because his father hadn't thought he would like it. But he did—so much. "Thank you," John said, trying to make them hear that he meant it. "This is—thank you!"

He'd never even thought to ask for one of these. At the last base they'd lived at, in San Angelo, his friend Bud had owned a set of encyclopedias, but he wouldn't let anybody really read them, just maybe flip through the first page or two.

And John knew already that if he was going to ask for something expensive, it would have to be something his dad could relate to. An air rifle, maybe. Definitely something that packed up easy—the odds of them staying here more than another six months were slim. By summertime, when everyone else in his class was playing softball and going swimming, John would be loading the truck again.

As if he heard John's thoughts, his father added, "next time we move, you're carrying that damn thing."

"Yes, sir," John said, fervently. "Can—may I read while you watch TV?"

His parents exchanged another glance, this time one he couldn't interpret, but they nodded, and awkwardly he carried the box containing his new encyclopedia over to the side of the couch where he wouldn't be blocking their view.

The kids at school thought he'd seen the world, and he let them, because that made everything easier. He could swagger, a little. Act like he was hot stuff. They ate it up. Susan Kirkpatrick let him kiss her behind the bleachers at the last football game before Christmas break, because she thought he was cool.

Truth was, he'd seen a dozen military bases, each with its own crappy school and regulation PX, but—that wasn't much. And there was so much about the world that he wanted to know.

He picked up the volume labeled "S," like he was holding something holy, like it might respond to his touch. He cracked the spine and everything around him slipped away.


End file.
